


A Light In The Dark

by FloodFeSTeR



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Fluff and Smut, Intense, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8526430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloodFeSTeR/pseuds/FloodFeSTeR
Summary: "Oh, I bite my tongue, that you may be the first to run.'Cause I heard a song, that man is a fickle child,The one blowing."It started with rape.It ended. . .I don't fucking know what to call what it ended with.*lyrics: Burgh Island by Ben Howard**rewrite of Sound Of Madness





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Girl_WithTheDirtyMind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Girl_WithTheDirtyMind/gifts).



> So this is the rewrite of my story Sound Of Madness, which I am changing drastically for several reasons. And it tis a new gift for my dear Girl_WithTheDirtyMind who is the bomb diggity and my unofficial wifey dammit, you proposed (guys its a joke, seriously you need to follow us on Twitter. Me: @LikePicklez)
> 
> Also, this just seems such an awkward way to start out a gift to somebody.

It starts with rape.

"Fuckin' torn to shreds," he laughs and chortles like its actually funny. Like he's proud. "Alright, Billy - your turn."

You don't see this Billy, but you certainly hear him. "Why do you have to bleed so damn much," he rumbles, fingers digging into you and gathering blood, cum and the spit used as lube.

He's bigger than the others, wider, and you can tell when you actually feel him enter through the pain. You try to kick my rubbery left leg out but someone kicks you right back, in the back of the knee and you collapse. Weak and tired, honestly stuck in the same position for so long it was becoming annoying. Muscles ached and burned, vision beginning to blur, but never bring the sweet release of a black out.

You'd just. . .just wanted to _dance_.

Billy grabs your hips for reassurance and starts up again, making awful noises you would have chalked up to normal noises that came with the deed. But no, no these were vile and repulsive, dragging bile up your throat, threatening to burn through your nose.

You can't even cry anymore. It hurts too much.

He doesn't last as long, and if you had the energy, you would have laugh at him, berated him, tried to make him feel like the swine he was. But you wanted to live still, somehow, even with the damage, you wanted to fucking live.

All at once, they let you go.

The men holding your arms released you and your chin hits the edge of dumpster as you fall, introducing more pain as you slide off Billy's bloody dick.

You watch through slit eyes, marinating in hot garbage and your own blood, as he tucks away his tool and he leers down at you. Its absolutely venomous and as though he had all the power, as though this made him a God.

You shudder and close your eyes, feeling a cold breeze washing over you. Death? You can't really place a claim to this feeling, but it doesn't block your hearing. You hear them laughing and fading away, talking about shit not even related to this, like they hadn't just gang banged an innocent young woman for no reason other than their own enjoyment.

You whimper, but can't bring yourself to pull the panties from your mouth, though you ache to. Your whole body aches and it hurts to blink, let alone lift your hand to your mouth.

 _Daddy_ , your mind whispers into nothingness.

What happened next could be described as many things.

A miracle or a tragedy, depends on whether or not you were dead yet. You hear ya can't really tell until you see pearly gates or the fires of oblivion.

You don't know.

You _do_ know that the figure approaching from the mouth of the alley was coming from the motel near by, you _knew_ he had several garbage bags in his hands and you _knew_ when he saw me you that he almost lost his shit.

"Ah fuck," his voice was gruff, not deep, and you actually relaxed.

He wasn't one of the men to rape you.

He dropped the bags and they clattered loudly against chipped concrete, his boots smacking roughly as he sprinted in the opposite direction.

_You fucker. . ._

You slumped in defeat, closing your eyes for real this time and just waiting for death. Or that stranger. Maybe he was a kind soul, maybe he would call 911 and they would pull you from the brink.

The next thing you felt though, was someone pulling the wet, foul, shredded cloth from between your teeth, letting you gasp for fresh air.

Your instant reaction was to take in a much needed breath that didn't reek of blood and cum, the cold prevented you from smelling the garbage, all you got was stale air. But it was a relief, filling your lungs, washing out the terrible taste and smells. You trembled against the ground as shock began to settle in, make your bones tremble.

"Easy," a new voice murmured above you and you cracked an eye open, seeing a new man crouching above you, handsome face creased with something akin to hatred. "Easy there," he murmured again. "Can ya speak?"

You hesitated, eyes wheeling until you saw the stranger from before hovering nearby. He went to get help, but not like you expected. You looked back to the man above you and nodded, to which he smiled kindly at.

"Gimme a name, sweetheart," he whispered.

You swallowed and then let out a small, strangled, cry of pain at the raw surface of yout throat. "_____," you managed. "My name is _____."

He gave you a deeply sympathetic look and nodded. "Well, _____, I'm gonna pick you up and take you to our motel room. My brothers gonna call 911, got it?"

You did, and nodded accordingly. "I. . .I'm gonna go to sleep," you croaked.

He looked back at who you assumed was his brother. "Think that's okay?"

The brother hesitated. "They hit you in the head?"

Yoy nodded softly. "Punched me in the jaw," you winced. "I'm. . .I'm missing two teeth."

The brother sighed. "So long as it wasn't blunt force to like the back of the head. . .yeah, she's okay to sleep."

Your whole body sagged at the relief and you closed your eyes, feeling them still stuffy and swollen from crying. You briefly felt yourself being lifted but you were numb to any possible pain, anything really, save for the shaking. . .

You were weightless.

* * *

"I knew I heard somethin'," Dean murmured as he gently laid you out on the sofa of his and Sam's motel room.

"Couldn't have thought it was that," Sam shook his head, setting the motel phone down. "Cover her up."

Yoy were naked as the day you were born, streaks of black goo on your arms and torso. Blood was layered onto your skin, just like the bruises and the shallow cuts where nails had dug in. You were busted up, most of the blood on your thighs so they got the gyst of what happened.

"Fucking pigs," Dean snapped, standing over your unconscious body.

"We got her right now," Sam soothed, crossing his arms over his chest. "She'll. . .she'll be relatively fine."

You would never be the same, that's for sure, but you would get the treatment you needed.

Sam could see the way Dean stood, his train of thought now: he felt responsible for you now. Sam shook his head but didn't say anything, there was no point. Sam understood, he had found you first. He didn't know if he'd be able to just. . .send you on her way now.

"We'll go to the hospital with her," Sam murmured as he opened the door, hearing sirens closing in.

Dean said nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

You wake with a violent jerk, skin slick with sweat and your jaw throbbing, among _other_ places.

You hiss and cover your eyes at the blinding light above your head, falling back into over-fluffy pillows. Your eyes sting and burn, ears sensitive to the incessant beeping to your right. Your whole body hums with annoying discomfort, but you reach out, trying to shut off the alarm.

"Easy now," a firm hand catches your wrist.

And you stiffen, alarm forgotten as memories absolutely _flood_ you. The brutal men, their hands and their use of your body, the way they smelt and felt and how disgusting it was. . . _oh God. . ._

You scream and flail, bringing your other hand down on it but feeling something like hairs rubbing against your forearm. _I don't care, I want him away from me! He's just gonna hurt me again, like the others_. You can't even find comfort in a familiar voice because it just reminds you of them and their grabbing hands.

Another hand grabs your other wrist and you freeze, the beeping even louder and there's a click at the door. Words are muffled in your ear and then its lips close to your ear, another click at the door and someone muffled on the opposite side.

"Hey," _the voice is already growing on me_. "Hey, its alright, you're okay, calm down."

 _Recognition_.

You whimper as your eyes open, your face going slack with tears as you recognize the brother of the two men that found you after the attack. His face is creased with concern but he offers you a small smile, laying your hands down in your lap as you stare at his face. He looks more and more uncomfortable as you sit there and stare at him.

You realize, then, that you're in a hospital bed and that beeping is your heart monitor. You can smell the cleanliness so fresh and strong, antibacterial soap and industrial cleaners.

"Its only been a couple of hours," he murmured. "My name is Sam, by the way. My brothers name is Dean."

You don't say anything right away, eyes wandering around the room, cautious and confused. You look back at his face and he's still watching you, which creeps you out and yet, its comforting. He was kind, he got help, just like his brother.

Who wasn't in the room.

"Wh-Where is he," you questioned, voice low and scratchy.

Sam sighs instantly and leans back in the chair he's sitting in; he shrugs. "He left about an hour ago. . .said he had some business to deal with. Wouldn't tell me much," he paused. "I wanna say he said call him when you woke up."

You nod softly and look up at the ceiling when he pulls his cellphone out. You swallow and it hurts, you breath and it feels like your lungs are collapsing. You're torn and battered; your tongue traces to empty spaces in your gums, right side of your jaw. Your teeth are somewhere you don't know, and you don't really care.

You want to go home.

"Hey, you there?"

You blink a couple of times and look over at Sam, see him staring at you in concern."Sorry," you reach up, touching your face lightly. "I'm just. . ." You shook your head softly. "What is it," you drop your hand, looking at him.

He puts his phone away in his coat pocket and shrugged a little. "Called your name a few. . .nevermind, not important. Deans still busy, I'll drive you home whenever you're ready."

You have to smile at him, despite deeply seeded distrust that barks at you from the back of your head. He doesn't seem like a bad person, he seems kind and genuine, but. . .but you couldn't trust, not right away, not after what happened.

"Ah, and she's finally awake."

Sam and you both look to the woman entering the room. She's a doctor with that coat and a file in her hand, her eyes curious on the two of you behind thickly framed glasses. She shuts the door slowly as you find my voice again, unsure if you even want to talk.

"Yes," you finally decide.

She smiles softly and approaches the foot of your bed. "Good news," she questions and you nod your head. "You're not pregnant," you let our a shuddering sigh of relief. "But. . .you _will_ be bed ridden for a few days. Your," she paused and looks at Sam, back to me. "Lower region is. . .heavily damaged. It will heal but there will be scars."

As you expected.

Yoy didn't need her to tell you what you felt during the assault. You couldn't even find sorrow in the relief. That may have been the only time God helped - aside from bringing in Sam and his brother.

"The police are searching for your attackers," the doctor murmurs, flipping through the delicate papers in her hands. "But there has been no luck. Blood pressure is normal, you seem fairly stable except for your heart rate elevating but I'm sure that was just the shock of seeing _him_ there," she wagged her pen at Sam.

"He saved me," you whisper. "His brother too."  
 

"Yes, Dean," the doctor nods slowly. "Yes, he was quite angry before he left. I am hoping to get some rest, he was here all night and he did not sleep a wink."

"He doesn't like seeing women hurt," Sam murmured.

"Well, who does," the doctor smiled kindly.

"Apparently the men who raped me last night enjoy it quite a bit," you snap and then groaned at the rough scratch on your throat.

The doctor sighs, closing the file gently in her hands. You don't feel bad for being so crass, you think you've earned your right to be mean for a moment. But there's a look on her face, not even pity for you, and a pang of guilt hits you.

"When can I be released," you ask after a pregnant pause.

She shrugs and pushes her glasses up her nose. "Honestly. . .tonight? Whenever you feel like it. Though I will have to caution you that your wounds are very sensitive and require hourly attention. You will need someone to stay with you for a few days."

"I don't have anyone," you wouldn't dare bring Jessica in on this, she doesn't need to know.

You were embarrassed enough that two strange men had seen you that way, you didn't need over dramatic Jessica sobbing while you told her not to.

"I can assign a nurse," she offered.

Your frown must have spoke volumes, because next thing you know Sam is speaking up. "We can take care of her."

You and the doctor give him bewildered looks and he seems a little confused himself. The doc clears her throat and you swivel your head to see her, watch her lips quirk as she gives you a look that says if you want him escorted out, you just have to say so.

"Is that okay, Miss. . .?"

After a moment you nod, slowly, but its still a nod. "Yeah, yeah I'm okay with that," _I really are, how odd_.

Sam bobs his head once and looks up, broad brow furrowed. "She just needs help cleaning the wounds on her arms and back, right?"

Doc nods, still a bit apprehensive about this whole thing. "Yes, other areas can be self treated. She may need assistance walking to and from things for a few days but recovery is looking promising. Should be good as new in no time," she sputtered. "I mean, physically, that is."

 _Thanks, doc, real fucking helpful_.

You sigh and relax once she's out of the room again and muster up your best smile for Sam. "Thank you," you murmur.

"No problem, we're in town for a few days -"

"No," you shake your head. "No, I mean for saving me in the first place. You may not have swooped in and stopped the deed but most people. . .they would have left me there for the cops to find."

His smile is tender. "Helping people. . ." He shrugged and leaned back in his chair; it creaked under his weight. "Its what me and my brother do."

You smile and close your eyes, feeling real tired, real fast. "Hell of a job," you murmur.

He chuckles, it is both bitter and warm. "You have no idea."

 

 

 

* * *

Didn't take much searching to find the _pigs_.

All frequent flyers of the bar she was seen in, one a decorated marine that got out on account of a bone spur in his foot that began to make serving difficult.

Well, if the bone spur wasn't helping, his freshly broken leg wasn't doing much to help either.

"Please," he begs, left arm limp at his side. He's propped up against the wall of his apartments kitchen, bleeding slowly and painfully. "I don't know. . ."

His head starts to droop and his whimpers become patchy. His lids are fluttering, struggling to stay awake, and he can make damn sure he stays awake.

But he _is_ losing conciousness.

Dean sighs and crouches down in front of him, slapping his left cheek slightly. "Come on, Billy," his voice has dropped in anger. "Stick with me, pal. Just gimme the name of your little gang-bang leader and I leave ya alone," there's a little glimmer of hope when he looks up at Dean, who grimaces. "Damn, boy. Shit brown eyes."

Billy lets out a disgusting sob but doesn't speak so Dean rolls his eyes and stands, pulling the gun from the back of his jeans. Billy stiffens when he sees it, but Dean doesn't point it at him. He saunters over to the pudgy man strapped to the chair in the center of the room. He's naked and bloody - Dean had caught them _fucking_ of all things.

They didn't even like women and they helped rape her.

Dean presses the barrel of the gun against the fat fucks head, cocking his own head as he stares at Billy. "Just give me his fucking name," Dean rumbles, slowly pulling back the hammer.

_Panic._

Fresh and beautiful in his eyes while he blubbers, stutters and produces a name. "Mitch," he finally gives up. "His name is Mitch. Owns the tackle shop on the North side of town, across from the high school. He should still be doing inventory - please stop!"

Dean pursed his lips and slowly nods, lowering the gun. "Now," he smiles charmingly and Billy shudders. "Was that so hard?"

He puts away the gun and Billy continues to sob, but Dean could care less. He walks back into the small kitchen, inches from the - possibly permanently - crippled man. He slides the instruments back into their respective pouches, rolling up his torture kit, and tucking it under his right arm. He whistles softly as he works, listening to the both of them whimpering and still softly pleading for him to stop. He wasn't even doing anything anymore, but they were making him want to do worse.

Billy inhales sharply when Dean stops at the door, the door cracked and the silence deafening.

Dean whistles lowly as he looks over at Billy, pulling out a butterfly knife that opens with a flick of the wrist. He wags it in front of Billy's eyes and then tosses it across the room, smiling brightly again before he decides its time to go.

"Thank you, Billy," he paused again on the threshold. "Oh, and Billy," he peeks back in. "Tell anyone it was me. . . _warn_ your friend. . .and I'll just come back for you. But you'll make it. Your boyfriend won't."

Its enough to further instill the fear of God into the piece of shit and Dean chuckled when he shuts the door.

* * *

  
She and Sam are asleep when he makes it back to the hospital.

The halls were empty, a small town trauma center with a low trickle, especially so late at night. The only other patient he saw was a junky tweaking in their room, and she had leered at him in a way even he felt violated with.

He isn't quiet in his approach, but still Sam needs to be jostled to be woken. His eyes bug and whirl, like a cornered cat, before he realizes its just his brother. He sags into his chair and Dean pulls up his own at her bedside, watching her wrapped chest slowly rise and fall. Her fingers are twitching and her lips tremble around unheard words.

"Where'd you go, man," Sam grumbles, rubbing his left eye with his knuckle.

Dean shrugged. "Just had to blow off some steam," he leaned onto his knees, looking over at his brother. "She wake up?"

Sam nodded, rubbing his face. "Yeah, for a minute. Freaked out, talked to the doctor," he paused in hesitancy. "I offered us to take care of her. I just figured. . .she said she didn't have anyone and she needs special care."

Dean held up a hand. "I get it," more than Sam knew. "We're still in town for a week, and I got some personal stuff to handle now. Its cool."

Sam gave his brother an odd look but didn't push it. "Where'd you go, though," it was nagging at him. "When you called early looking for the tools. . .what'd you do?"

Dean chuckled and sat up straight. "Just went to see a friend I didn't know lived here now," he smiled at Sam. "And I couldn't find it. I did some inventory. We need salt and we need to replenish the holy water."

Sam nodded slowly. "I guess I can handle that myself tomorrow. You cool with checking her out by yourself?"

Dean nodded. "No problem, man."

Sam still looks apprehensive, but Dean didn't really care.

_What his little brother didn't know wouldn't hurt him._


End file.
